


The before and after

by FrankCastlesTankTop (SecretlyWritingFanfic)



Category: The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, God these two, Prompt Fic, Tumblr Prompt, probably even romantic, softly smutty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-31
Updated: 2018-07-31
Packaged: 2019-06-19 02:18:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15500157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SecretlyWritingFanfic/pseuds/FrankCastlesTankTop
Summary: I've been called out to deliver a Kastle first-kiss fic that would singe the digits off an NC-17 rating.And then Frank and Karen showed me exactly where this thing was meant to go.





	The before and after

**Author's Note:**

  * For [darlinghookshipper87](https://archiveofourown.org/users/darlinghookshipper87/gifts).



Most evenings after 9 pm Karen had to remind herself that she didn’t miss Frank. After her email stopped pinging, and the pipes overhead went quiet. The toddlers in 4C were asleep, and Mrs. Marcinkewicz in 4E turned off the news. At 9 pm life moved on without Karen, and she knew how lonely New York could be.

Before, there had been Frank. It was never something planned, but for a time he was the most reliable part of her day. Usually after midnight, and always announced by rhythmic tapping at the single window over her fire escape. Sometimes he’d come in, other times he’d shrink back from her offer like a street dog. Either way, they would talk –because he needed her, and she needed him right back.

He’d made an effort at pretense in the very beginning – hunting for information or warning her to stay out of a specific neighborhood. Karen knew a social call when she saw one. She would offer a beer or a washcloth for his latest open wound. Then he brought offerings of his own: surveillance photos, an article from the Times, or dumplings from the Golden Dragon on eighth.

At first, he’d insisted on sitting on her windowsill, but Karen had taken his hands and pulled him inside. She still blushed when she remembered the grip of his fingers. How gently he’d pulled his boots off and lined them against the skirting board. Frank took a deep corner of her plush white couch, unconsciously spreading his knees and leaning back into the cushions.  
In her memory Frank spent countless nights there, filling the apartment with his warmth.

Then Lewis happened. And the elevator. And something in Central Park her police sources were still too nervous to fully disclose. After that, 9 pm was quiet and Frank didn’t come to her window anymore. A week passed, then a month. Spring slipped into a hot, quiet summer empty as a hunger pang.

The autumn hurricane season drenched the avenues in grey. Karen took to working late at the Bulletin. Ellison reminded her weekly that Ben’s office wasn’t zoned residential. On a Saturday in October, she braved the rain for an 80s double feature in the Village. At 7 pm, she stood beneath the theater’s canopy to watch the weather roll over the neighborhood.

It was well after dark when she emerged from the subway station, wringing wet from the rain. By 8:45 she was home again in soft, dry clothes. The toddlers in 4C were asleep, and Mrs. Marcinkewicz in 4E turned off the news.

She almost missed the short pattern of knocks at her front door.

Karen found her breath in a single gulp. She gripped the door frame with a clenched hand, taking him in. The months away had been kind. Frank had healed, gotten a haircut, looked healthy. The stubble on his jaw was only a few hours old. His clothes were clean and new.

He stood square in the doorway, ducking his head. A familiar shadow in the low light of her hallway. In his (quaking) hands: plum-colored dahlias wrapped in white paper. In his eyes: an apology. What more could he give her? Karen’s mouth opened once, closed. Those months without him. The loneliness. Never knowing if he was gone for good or underground. Tears threatened to spill. She chewed hard on her bottom lip. She took his free hand in hers.

Not the hall. Not her couch. Karen brought him through the tight hallway to her bed. Duvet piled on the dark side of her queen-sized bed. One lamp, more pillows than one sleeper ever needed. There was always meant to be two here. She let Frank’s hand slip away and crossed the threshold of her bedroom – turned to face him fully. Challenging.

_If you’ve come back to me, come a little farther._

Frank’s head hung low, his gaze lifted just enough to watch for her forgiveness. He looked away, dark eyes wet with unshed tears. He shook his head, shoulders rolling and breath sharp.  
When he finally could look her in the eye, the look of helplessness was breathtaking.  
Karen sat decidedly on the edge of the mattress. She set her shoulders and her mouth.

_If you’ve come all this way, come here._

He couldn’t take those last few steps on his feet. Frank sank to his knees before her; sat back on his heels and took Karen’s fingers in his. He pressed his lips (soft, warm, alive) against her skin –pressed his nose, then his forehead, to her hands.

There was a sacred marvel in his silent tears, the hiccupping jerk of his shoulders as Frank Castle finally fell apart.

She didn’t count it as their first kiss. That came later after she took his head in her hands and brought his face to hers. After he rose from his knees to scale the distance between them; when he pressed her back to the bed and smoothed her hair back. Frank Castle, eyes shining and cheeks damp, covered Karen Page with the warmth of his body and finally (finally), asked if he could kiss her.

After she said yes, and his brushed her lips (soft, wet, waiting) with his, he did it again. Frank kissed her over and over until she was dizzy. He kissed her lips and her chin. He kissed her nose and her hair. He smoothed his hands over her skin again and again, hungry to prove his heart and make a promise.

And she found her tears, then. In his arms, with the weight of his love covering her. She found a way to forgive and demand better. She deserved it, and he agreed. They moved in rhythm and wept in concert, these two stone-hard souls with enough sadness for an ocean. With softness, he pulled away her clothes and worshipped her skin beneath. With tongue. With breath. He gasped for mercy, and she was merciful. When they locked together it was softer still, despite the pulse of blood and heartbeats. Despite how he pushed her to the edge of a bright, blinding suffering that felt like joy. Despite the way she held him as if he’d been under her command all along.

After they found peace, they found sleep. In the morning there would be more rain, and cold thunder the night after. But all the hours to come would be theirs. The dawn. The day.  
And all the hours before and after 9pm.


End file.
